Slytherindor
by cuartasextalover
Summary: Voldemort's been defeated. Harry's a prodigy, aka, the boy-who-can't-do-anything-right. And Draco Malfoy is still a bloody prat.
1. Chapter 1

Slytherindor -1-

"Potter," a platinum blonde haired teen snarled. His nose cringing the slightest bit and eyes dangerously narrowed. Harry frowned. Did Malfoy always wish to fight?

"Malfoy," he retorted, his voice even and unaffected. He wished Malfoy would just give up on the Slytherin Prince and Gryffindor Knight thing. Voldemort had been defeated; Harry thought the blond had changed. It turned out he went right back to being the same exact Malfoy; a prat.

_No matter_, Harry thought. He need only finish one more year of Hogwarts and he would be rid of the other's presence.

Turning, Harry headed the opposite direction he had intended. He wasn't much hungry anyway. He would rather just lie down and reminisce about the old days, when Dumbledore was still alive.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him, clearly worried if he were angered or not.

"Don't worry 'Mione, Harry can handle himself," Harry's best mate, Ron, assured the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder to lead her to the dining hall.

"Heh," Draco snickered, watching the raven's retreating back, "I suppose you're just as pathetic as that rotting corpse of a Headmaster," with that, Malfoy's groupies began giggling and chuckling. Harry sighed.

Running a hand through his dark, unruly hair, he turned on his heel and was before the blond in mere seconds.

_**Smack!**_

Draco flew to the floor with such force the little spine he had cracked. In a bit of a stupor, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and stared at the red substance that stained it. Had Potter just punched him?

Shakily standing, refusing help from anyone and ignoring outstretched hands, he glared at Potter. Harry just stood there, anger—and what could've been satisfaction—burned in his emerald eyes.

"You'll regret that, Potter," Draco hissed, voice dangerously low. He would make Potter rue the day, or week, he laid hands upon him.

Stumbling he took a few steps back, and lifted his hand to his bloody nose to wipe away the red liquid. Allowing Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson to drape either of his arms over their shoulders and lead him away. In a fit of anger, Pansy turned her head back and glared daggers.

"Watch your back, Gryffindor!" she snarled, turning her attention back to her silently fuming boyfriend. Yes, they were indeed still together and going a bit further than just dating. Draco had hinted more than once that Pansy was the one whom he wished to marry. Something of which delighted the cheeky girl.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N_:_**_ Stupid chapter names always entertain me. Yep!_

* * *

_**Hungies**_

Closing his eyes, Draco sighed dramatically. He could do without all the fretting Pansy was doing at the moment. Yes, he enjoyed being pampered and tended to, but Pansy seemed to be doing much more than the usual amount.

Grabbing his hand in hers', she kissed his forehead and placed a wet towel upon it. Draco raised a questioning, thin eyebrow. Though he didn't believe the other could see with the towel covering his forehead. "Pans, why are you putting a towel on my forehead? One would suspect it would go across my nose, as that is where I was injured."

Pansy tsk'ed.

"Drac, I'm simply doing as is appropriate. When having a bloody nose, or in pain, my mum always puts a cool towel upon my head. It helps with the headaches and soothes your body." Pansy shot Draco a dazzling smile. She really was a girl who seemed worthy enough to hold the Malfoy name. The blond shot a tired smile back.

Pansy must've noticed how tired he was, for she immediately perked up and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. As she bent over, her breast brushed against his arm. Malfoy reckoned she did as much on purpose.

"You should rest, Drac. I'll tell Professor Snape what happened. That way, you can at least rest easy knowing you're in the clear. Professor Snape won't blame you for not coming, with what happened and all."

Draco listened half-heartedly. His eyes fluttering open and shut every time the girl's voice raised an octave, and his mind tuning in and out. Eventually, he found himself asleep, certain there was still a cheeky girl talking up a storm beside him.

Waking up, Draco took in his surroundings. Taking notice that he was still in his dorm, he yawned loudly, ignoring the fact that it wasn't very _Malfoy-like_—he was alone; he felt he had his rights to comfort—and stretched out his aching limbs. He hadn't slept all day, had he?

Wrinkling his nose—bloody good idea that was—the blond winced. It was crusted in the dried blood and left him with a faint burning sensation that actually really hurt. Like bloody hell, it did. Somnolently he pulled himself out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he couldn't without his grimace of disgust.

All along his milky white skin, coating his nose, there was dry blood. The once red blood now of a mucky brown; an unflattering contrast to his pale skin. It was very disconcerting for him to see. He felt much, as he assumed, like the Weasley did everyday; unsightly and filthy.

With a bit of a grimace, Draco grabbed his face-towel and wet a corner. Then he made on the painful task of removing the filth. Alas, every drop seemed to be fused with his actual skin, making things much more excruciating.

Sometime later, the platinum-blond finished. Crystal droplets sat in the corners of his eyes, threatening to escape him; he hadn't expected it to hurt so much. Belated, he realized there was a spell he could've used instead, making things a lot easier upon him.

_Oh well._

With a grimace, he continued his day's sanitary routine.

Exiting the bathroom, towel draped around his waist, clear grey eyes regarded the clock; taking notice of the time.

At the moment, everyone, or most, would be at breakfast. _Merlin knows I could use the food more tha anyone. _As if agreeing, his stomach growled on cue. Draco sighed silently; he would miss out on yet another meal.

Walking over to his dresser, ignoring his angry stomach, Malfoy picked out his usual attire and robe, slipping them on. By time he finished dressing he realized there **was** still time to spare, and headed down to the _Great Hall_. He was quite famished. Besides, it wouldn't due to confront Potter on an empty stomach; he still had to teach the git a lesson.


End file.
